


Good Boy

by Defnotmeyo



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Pet Play, Suicide, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12628581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defnotmeyo/pseuds/Defnotmeyo
Summary: It started innocently enough, as most deviant actions do.  It started with a quiet night on Scully's couch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This began, as most of the things I write tend do, in a response to an ask on tumblr on wtfmulder's blog. I think. Alcohol may or may not have been involved. This begins in Season 5 and will continue through the rest of the series, ending sometime after Season 11, provided neither Mulder or Scully kick the bucket in said season.
> 
> TW: Petplay

It started innocently enough, as most deviant actions do. It started with a quiet night on Scully's couch.

Mulder loved quiet nights on Scully's couch. The candles burned softly. The smell of balsamic chicken – adorably enough, her only repertoire - hung in the air. His head in her lap and her fingers rifling through his hair. He sighed deep and nuzzled her thigh. His socked feet near the arm of the sofa dug into the cushion’s crease. 

This was home – as close as he would ever get to it, anyway – and he loved it. 

Most of the time. But the choice of entertainment was making him vaguely uncomfortable. 

"This doesn't uh-" her fingers cut through his hair and speech was temporarily rewired- "uh, this doesn't kinda remind you..."

On screen, Julia Roberts had just confessed her love to Dermot Mulroney. It had not gone well. 

Mulder didn't argue her refusal to answer as she continued to pass through his hair, lightly massaging as she went. He felt her belly lift in a sigh. 

"You know, Mulder... sometimes I miss having a dog."

"Where did that come from?" he was incredulous. ‘Sure, Scully, let’s not embark on conversations of genuine feelings.’ Em-bark. Indeed.

"I miss having someone to pet during a good romantic comedy without turning it into the treatise of their life. What do you want from me, Mulder?" She tightened her hand through his hair. "Yes, this movie is about best friends, but it ends there. You won. You got the girl." 

He let off a low moan, nearly a growl, and nuzzled deeper between her legs, nose first. She was wearing a pair of his grey sweats, and he knew for a fact, from the little trimmed hairs peeking out of the seam, she was wearing zero underwear. There was nothing sexier. “I can be your good boy if you want me too, Scully…” he trailed off. 

Woah. Where the fuck had that come from? 

He felt her hand in his hair hesitate, pull back, and he did the same from her crotch. ‘Great, Mulder. Way to fuck it all up. At least give this thing a few months, for fuck’s sake, before you show her how fucked up you are…' her hand tightened again and this time, it hurt. 

His cock twitched.

“Yeah? You’re a good boy, huh, Mulder?” her voice was already sex deep, and her hand in his hair tugged him tighter against her pubic mound. 

“Ungh,” he couldn’t form words. So, he slipped his hand back under her waistband and around her ass, and twisted down to his knees between her legs, lined up with her pussy. His lips hovered over her sweats, but he didn’t care. He ate her anyway, palming her bareback from the behind, and working his middle finger down to where she was already slick.

He slipped his finger back and flicked at her ass, thrilled at the jump in her hips. Holy shit. She loved this. 

He worked her over her sweats (his sweats, actually... he was gonna have to get them back from her) until the grey drenched into something darker, something far more fragrant and heady. He felt the clinch of her ass when she came. 

“God damn, Mulder, you are suuuuuuuuuch a goooooooood boy.”

He popped up from between her legs, wide-eyed and pupil-dilated, huffing. “You really want that puppy, don’t you Scully?”

Her left arm was strung against the back of the couch, legs splayed, right hand loosely toying with a nipple. Post-orgasmic Scully had become his favorite. 

Her nipple hand quickly found its way back to the nape of his neck, dragging him up where he lapped like a greedy dog. He couldn’t stop the humping of his hips against her thigh. He was painfully hard.

“Oh, I dunno, Mulder. I think you’ll suffice.”

“Ungh…” he came in his pants that night.

It became a running joke after. He was her good boy. 

A great write-up for an X-file? It earned him a quick massage.

“You’re such a good boy, Mulder.” 

Always out of ear-shot.

Stay quiet while Skinner balled them out? Earned a behind-the-ear rub and a nibble on the lobe. “Good job, Mulder. I’m proud of you.”

One night, it began to intensify, after Linda Bowman decided to scramble his brains. 

She lay back with him, big spoon, comforting, arms around him as he pressed her into the sofa. He was dry eyed and tears gone. He was the Johnson and Johnson of the killing-your-partner-commercial. No more tears.

She started by grinding her hips against his ass. 

“No, Scully. No.” He couldn’t even look at her without seeing her brains across the warehouse floor.

“Mmm, c’mon Mulder. I need to feel you.”

He moved his hips away but she scooted her hands up his shirt, rippling the thick abdominal cords there. She scratched lightly, slowly curling through the coarser hair at the top of his denim waistband. Back up. Back down. 

Holy shit.

She was giving him a belly scratch.

“Scully…” he warned one more time, but his own primordial rhythm betrayed him as he began to push into her slow pumps. 

Her hand slipped below his waist band, popping the top button and jerking him in rhythm. Mulder’s balls contracted with vice-like force and suddenly he was spewing over his zipper and himself. 

“Mmm, yeah. Good boy, come for me. That’s my boy. That’s my Mulder.” She was thrusting him hard and long and it occurred to him she was coming too; Christ he could practically feel her through his jeans. His dick clenched and gave one last, final, gasping spurt in response.

“I think, Scully,” he murmured as he drifted off, her still behind him, crushed into the cushions by his weight, “I think we need to get you a dog. But I think what you’d do to him is illegal in 50 states.”

He passed out before she cackled and tugged on his ear lobe. Fuck. Maybe they’d be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Pine Bluff Variant 
> 
> TW: Breathplay, mentions of petplay. PLEASE SEE CHAPTER NOTES AT THE END IF YOU ENJOY THIS. Or even if you don't.

He’d been despondent for days. Scully had some idea what’d happened with August Bremer. Enough of an idea to draw about seven different conclusions, none of them very settling.

It wasn’t like they had been in a constant state of fuck, before. When Scully told Mulder during their movie night months ago that he’d won, he’d got the girl, she hadn’t exactly been telling the whole story.

They had, since her illness, slowly stumbled into a loosely romantic relationship after a series of awkward miscues, and with all the finesse of a college nerd slipping a girl his dick the for the first time. 

Still, they’d run into rough cases since then and he’d never pulled back like this from her. So, when she showed up at Apartment 42 with a brown paper sack and an idea, she did so without any confidence that he’d let her in. 

When he opened the door, his apartment greeted her with its customary cavernous yawn. He sighed and nodded, bed headed and unshaven, and stepped aside. She would have pushed passed him, anyway. 

Two empty beer bottles, and a half empty pizza box. Nice, Mulder. “Mulder, we gotta talk.”

He nodded again. “What’s in the bag?” A break-up. A transfer. A need for distance. She could only guess at the levels of self-deprecation his brain was probably taking him to. 

“That’s um…” she sighed and sat it down on the ground beside his sofa, then shrugged her coat off and walked closer to him again, tossing the garment on his coat rack. “That’s for later, hopefully.”

“Ooooookay.”

They moved to his couch. On his TV, the Yankees were locked at zero in Detroit in the 6th. She tossed him a sympathetic look.

“Yeah. They beat the shit out of them yesterday. Irabu is pitching like a bag of smashed assholes; I think they’re about to yank him.”

Scully snorted as she glanced his way. A hint of her Mulder, there, no sparing of her hypothetical feminine sensitivity. “I can think of a few things I’d like to yank, Mulder, and none of them include the Yankees’ starting pitcher.”

His first full smile since before his terrorist trip in Folger Park blindsided her. It was gone too quick as he buried his face in his hands. “I know, I know Scully. I’m sorry. I am. I just ah…” He pursed his lips and glanced her way, took a breath.

Jesus. She steeled herself. Whatever came out of his gorgeous mouth next was going to be heavy. She wasn’t wrong.

“What uh… What are we, Scully?”

“Mulder…”

“No, I… I need to know. Because six days ago, I was on my knees in the fucking dirt with a gun to my head and all I could think after was, ‘I don’t even know if I should have told Scully I love her.’” He was up and off the couch, facing away from her with his hands on his hips. “And uh… I still don’t know that answer. Because beyond a few fucks and an alarmingly fetishistic recent lifestyle, I am still struggling to see where I fit in.” He refused to turn her way.

For her part, Scully was mouth hung-open indignant. “Where you… where you fit in, Mulder?”

He huffed and shrugged, kept his back turned.

She approached him like she would a wild and wounded fox, slowly, with a hand stretched out. When she came within a foot behind him, she snaked her right hand through the gap between his elbow and hip, and came to rest on his oblique, soft and nonthreatening. He didn’t adjust his rigid stance.

She stepped one more step in, and nuzzled him with her cheek. Nonthreatening. His abs twitched, and she knew then. He ached for her. But if she played this wrong, he would run.

“Mulder…”

“Hmm?” His mumble was disgruntled, and she felt his despondence, his moodiness, through his shoulder blades.

She drew her left hand up past the hem of his t-shirt, scraping her nails up the ridgeline of his spine and flatting her palm across his lat. She stepped in fully then, gluing her belly to his ass and when he pressed back against her with a low hum, she knew she had him back. “You fit everywhere, Mulder. Don’t you get that yet?”

His turn into her was sharp. “Everywhere?”

She used her shoulder for leverage and pushed him down on his back to his couch. “Everywhere.”

The ambience of the apartment muffled down to pants and smacks, lips and teeth. She rode him through their clothes. More than half their sex up until now had been hand jobs and heavy petting; over the clothes riding that led to semi-completion. Not tonight.

“Fuck Scully, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to think.” 

She bit his bottom lip and pulled it away. Let him go and soothed. “Don’t say anything. Don’t think.” 

They hovered over each other’s mouths, breathed in that huffy sort of way that was disgusting by day and a hell of a turn on by night. That desperate sort of way. 

She sat back on his hips. Undid her side zipper to pull down her slacks. Tugged his waistband. “I need these off, now.”

He nodded, too out of breath to answer, and his jeans and shorts were off in a pop of his hips. He was there, up against the wet of her. She bowed her head back down to his. Snuck her hand, her forearm, underneath his neck and pulled him in for the ride.

Mulder grit his teeth and groaned. “Ah, fuck, fuck fuck. Fuck.” He popped up steadily in her as she rode him.

She slowed their pace and began to grind him out. He tossed his head back, delirious. She was soaked over him. But more than that, there was… there was a catch… in her pussy. A little ridge. And he could feel his cockhead slide passed it every time she arched her back. 

“Oooooh fuck, Scully, I can feel that. Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop please don’t stop pleasedon’tstopplease…”

She smiled over him, her face down close to his, could feel him grip the back of her head, tangle her hair, and back himself off. 

She began to jerk her hips in short pulls, rubbing that fucking ridge of herself over him again and again. 

“Mother… fucker…”

“Ahh… yeah. You trust me, Mulder?”

His wild eye was dilated completely, wounded pupil darkening out his iris, his second eye not far behind. “Wha...?”

“Do you trust me?” She knew he would trust anything she said, grinding over him like that. He’d put stock in her, grant her children if she wanted, fuck he’d marry her right now. She slid up and down him, every thrust knowing these things. 

“Yeah.”

“I want to give you something.” She watched as he nodded, a caged animal who would do anything for release. 

He thrust up harder. “Yeah, okay.”

“I need you to trust me. I need you to say you trust me, Mulder.”

Mulder was sex deep but not stupid. “I trust you, Mulder,” he cracked, and she would have slapped the grin off his face if she wasn’t ready to make him explode.

She sat on him a moment, and burst into a laugh. He felt it balls deep. They didn’t move. She leaned down over him. “I want to give you something I know you’ll like. But I need you to trust me.”

He regained a molecule of solemnity. “I trust you with my life, Scully.”

She relaxed back on his hips, back cradled by his thighs, and the black of her pupils engulfed the blue. She sighed, weirdly serious, and draped herself back over his chest, starting to slide her hips slow and long. He groaned, letting her take him for the ride. 

She continued to pump astride him, kept it slow, and nuzzled his right cheek with her left. He was so caught up, so drowned in ecstasy, he didn’t register as she seated her left shoulder up into the crook of his neck, under the thick of his jaw, and wrapped her bicep around him to cradle his head. 

“Oh my god, Dana,” he groaned, and she answered him back, nipping at his jaw as she kept her head low. God, he was at the edge. 

“Mulder,” she whispered in his ear. “You trust me?” She kept her hips seated on him, moving her upper body fully over his chest. He was a hundred and ninety pounds to her one-ten, but he couldn’t have sat up if he tried.

She grounded him and tightened her left arm behind his neck fractionally, digging her shoulder just a little deeper into his clavicle and up against his jugular. “Mulder...” 

“Yes! Yes Scully. Fuck, I trust you!”

She kept her body where it was but slowed her hips and pulled back one last time, looking at him. He was heavy lidded, but his stare was loyal as a hungry dog. He needed this. He needed her over him. He needed her to show him her love. 

She nodded. Began a pump with her hips slow enough she knew she was driving Mulder to his grave. She could feel the urgency in the snap of his hips, the lift of his belly, the way he pounded her down.

Then, as she gazed cobra-serious into his eyes, her left shoulder still in the crook of his neck, she brought her right forearm across the other side of his carotid and squeezed in on his neck with both her ulna and acromion bones.

Mulder’s arms flew up and around her. He couldn’t even yelp her name. His hips bucked, and his eyes went glassy as she knew his world went black. Scully loosened up and color flooded back. She could practically feel the edge fade on his orgasm as his hips slowed. 

“Scully, what the fuck-“

“I’m going to ask you one more time, Mulder,” she rode the heavy gasp of his belly like a dinghy cut out to sea. “Do you trust me?”

She felt him slow, felt him quiet. Felt him stave the urgency to flee to his den. This wasn’t August Bremer with a gun to his head. This was her. The tide of his chest slowed with his breath. “Yeah. Yeah Scully. I trust you. With everything.”

Her smile cut through and melted every part of him frozen from his undercover lapse.

She laid back down over him, picking up her pace one more time. “Let me make you feel good.”

She cut him off again at his carotid, left shoulder and right forearm cinching over his neck, and this time he let himself go. 

Mulder felt his world tighten down. He would have panicked, anywhere else, but not in her arms. Then the blackness lifted and he felt, as though for the first time in his life, he was trapped in one of his fabled tractor beams, floating up to an explosion of light.

He wasn’t sure if he came as he passed out or passed out as he came, but for the first time in months he was completely weightless and free. Free of everything. Free of guilt, free of life, and free of cum. Completely caught up in pussy. Her pussy. 

When Mulder came back to himself, he was drenched, sated, and at peace. They were gasping in turn, her rough-shod over his body, their sweat together, and dripping onto his floor. 

“That was…”

“Mmm-hmm,” she sounded as sleepy as he usually felt. 

“Scully, I don’t even know where to-“

She rose the few inches required to kiss him, sloppy and lax. “You could start by shutting up.”

He belted a chuckle. Rubbed his stubble across her hairline. They remained silent for minutes. “So, um…” Mulder was perpetually curious, even when cum-drunk. “What’s in the bag?”

"Oh." She sighed and shook her head. He was incorrigible. “See for yourself.”

He reached his arm over and picked it up, opening the rough paper loudly against the quiet of late night after-sex. The paper drifted away, and he belted a full belly laugh this time. “Oh, my fucking god.” 

She snickered into his neck. “I had to know you were into it, first, before I let you open it.”

He set it down on the coffee table. “Um… I’m not sure jiu-jitsuing someone into an orgasm is the same thing Scully… but I’m willing to try it out.”

The leather was thick, the chains around it well-made.

“I can’t believe you actually bought me a choke-collar.”

“Just don’t try to go auto-erotic on me, Mulder.”

He pulled his blanket down over them. They could worry about the rest of their clothes later. “As long as I don’t have to go auto, ever again.” He was sleep heavy. And so he tried not to worry when she didn’t answer him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic, Mulder and Scully delve into breath play for the first time in their relationship. I want to put it out that you should NEVER explore breath play without a foundation of knowledge to stay safe. NEVER fuck with the trachea. That shit is asking for trouble. At the end I intro’ed a choke collar. These are safe but only as a bondage device, not as a choking mechanism. Again and I repeat. NEVER fuck with the trachea. This link will take you to the NoGi Ezekial Choke from the mount, which is what Scully uses on Mulder in this chapter: http://tinyurl.com/y7atmflv This is a very safe, effective way to explore breath play, but again, only if you know what you are doing. If this is the type of sex play you’d like to explore, I highly, highly encourage and ask that you find a knowledgeable source who can teach you what to do, how to do it, and for how long, plus warning signs if you traipse into danger.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post One Son
> 
> TW: Petplay and breathplay, slight on both, Dubcon

He jumped the second she slipped her arms around him. He hadn’t heard her come down the stairs. Life in Arcadia Falls was anything but mundane, but at night, a three bedroom house in suburbia might as well be as sterile as a one bedroom apartment in Alexandria. 

“Hey. I’m sorry. About earlier,” she nuzzled against the back of his ear, toothpaste fresh and facemask clear.

He continued to watch the game. Duke was rocking DePaul in front of him on the T.V. 

She was behind him across the back of the couch. “I’m just having a little trouble adjusting to all this domesticity.”

He snorted. “It’s just me, Scully. But I get where you’re coming from.”

She slowed her nuzzle enough to nip at the outer lobe of his ear. 

Mulder sucked in a breath. They hadn’t touched since before El Rico.

“I’ve got an idea…” she whispered.

He felt the cold of metal and watched as she dropped the leather collar down his chest, into his lap. Mulder sucked his teeth and his nipples tightened. “What kind of idea?” He was twelve octaves deep, and he finally started to give in, turning his face to hers and nuzzling her back, kissing her cheek, her ear lobe, her lips.

He stood and circled the couch, leaving the collar on the seat below them. When he kissed her, he could have sobbed. It was, he thought, maybe the sweetest kiss of his life. Finally. A chance for penance. 

She drew his t-shirt off him slowly, raking his ribs as she went. He felt himself tighten, pecs to dick. 

“How do you want to do this?” he asked.

Scully had already dropped her robe, was off with the pajama top in front of him. Mulder fell to his knees and lapped her nipple, not expecting a verbal response. He flicked her back and forth felt her moan, all the way through his hands splayed on her lower back.

He felt her shift, grab the collar from the sofa and move back. Mulder swallowed convulsively, but let her slip it over his head. He’d stopped the lapping, knelt breathless with his head bent between her breasts. He panted before her, hearing the snick of the short leash, forged from the same leather as the collar.

Panted, until she pulled back on the lead and the slip tightened on him. 

“Fuck…” he murmured and she answered in kind. He pulled back, eyes lidless and with that customary madness. 

The entire time, she’d kept one arm behind her back. He realized this now, and mirrored her arched brow. Her grin was predatory and for the first time, Mulder felt his trust in her bottom out. “Scully…”

She tightened down on him again as she brought her hand around. A rolled-up magazine. She had to be kidding. 

“You’ve got to be-“

She whapped him then, in the meat of his upper bicep, not hard enough to hurt.

“What the fuck?” He was moderately horrified to feel the blood begin to flood his cock. ‘Was this it, then?’ his psychologist’s mind supplied. He got off on this?

“Turn around.”

He obeyed, and she was behind him, hand skimming his pajama pants and dipping beneath, tugging on him as his cock surged to her touch. 

“You’ve been a bad, bad boy, Mulder.” 

She kept him glued to her, breasts to back, belly to ass, and hand to dick, even while she held the magazine. He began thrusting into her hand, rocking them both as they knelt together. 

“Squeezing the toothpaste from the middle…”

Whap.

Mulder groaned. She’d got him in the meat of his thigh, right outside the top of his kneecap. The perils, he supposed, of being a bad boy when your girlfriend (was she?) was a doctor.

“Leaving the toilet seat up…” 

Whap.

This time she got him across his right calf. Her grip on his cock was tight and he thrust past it. Groaned again. Still. He felt a little part of himself begin to boil. She was starting to take this shit just a little too far.

He didn’t know what she did with the magazine, but he felt himself go into a little of a panic when she kept jerking him and tightened down on the collar again. It didn’t help he couldn’t see her. But she was tight, all the way up the back of his body, her voice in his ear.

“You want me, Mulder?”

“Ughhh… yeah. You know I do.” Her grip burned without lube and he burned with her. She hadn’t touched him for weeks and he was a starved brush fire without her. 

She loosened up on the lead and he gulped air. He heard her shuffle as she drew away, then she was back again, never once letting go of his dick. 

“Just me, Mulder?” They stilled in the living room, huffed breaths echoing off the walls. The next time she struck him, it was in the soft of his oblique, between his hips and ribs… and she spared no strength. “Just me?”

“Fuck, Scully! That hurt!” He grabbed the magazine out of her hand and tossed it, lightening quick. Quicker than her.

Mulder rarely underestimated his partner. He never miscalculated her strength in the field. Never felt like he had to watch his back – she had it for him. But that night, for a split second, he forgot just how strong she was on mat-room exercises. Because as soon as he tossed that rolled up paper to the side, she had him twisted down with his arms behind his back and her forearm across his jugular. 

“Bad move, Mulder,” she grinned down at him, but it hit him in that minute.

There was no joy in that jackal-grin. This wasn’t any more fun for her than it was for him. How had they reached this point? They had drifted this far away, then, where an exercise in trust had suddenly turned truly into punishment?

Mulder’s erection had flagged with the magazine pop in the side of his belly belly, but with the sudden revelation, his blood boiled and everything, heat and desire, rushed back. ‘Just me, Mulder?’ Hers? Was he hers? God damn right he was, and she was his… and it was time to prove it.

He had no leverage with his arms, but where he’d underestimated her, she’d miscalculated him, and her surroundings. Mulder shifted his hips and snapped her off him.

He took advantage of her split-second surprise to turn her around bend her over, her pelvis glued to his and his palm flat between her shoulders. She wanted doggie? She damn sure was gonna get it. He had her wrists locked in a hand and moved a fist to her hair, pulling her around to look at him.

“You wanna hate fuck me, Scully? Then hate fuck me. But don’t hide behind this shit.” He let go of her hair and tore the collar off himself, throwing it to the side. He ground into her, shifting her back and forth against his lap, taking no joy in the moan he drew from her.

“That’s right. I’m right, aren’t I?” he gritted, dropping his torso and baring his teeth against the back of her neck. “You can hide behind this good boy, bad boy bullshit,” he repeated, “Can’t you? God forbid you show some actual anger, right? That would mean you fucking care.” He was grinding against her pussy hard, the pressure pushing them towards the ground. She had to be feeling the friction, but she pushed back into him on all fours, keeping them upright. 

Then she snapped up and back against his chest, with a quick and unanticipated shoulder press. He pulled with her, letting her gain purchase sitting astride his hips, sitting back on the carpet and thrusting up against her. She rocked him harder, practically growling. She still hadn’t spoken. 

They were practically glued together between their pants, grinding so hard it hurt. Mulder reached between them, tugged both sets of pajama pants down. Fuck checking to see if she was ready. He needed to be in her, now. And then he was.

She rode him like that for minutes, reverse cowgirl but kneeling. Their knees would be filing a lawsuit against them both, come morning.   
“Fucking,” thrust, “answer,” thrust, “me,” thrust. 

She sat on him hard, stilling him. “You talk to Diana like that, Mulder?’

Horrified, Mulder pushed her up and off, standing as he did.

She mimicked him, whirling on him and backing away, putting the couch between them.

The partners faced off, flushed, gasping. Mulder wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her look so completely, thoroughly pissed. He could echo the sentiment. 

“What do you fucking want from me, Scully?” They were pathetic, standing there with their pants around their legs. They both began to dress, tossing each other shirts and undergarments. 

She didn’t answer him. Sat on the couch, palming her face. “This isn’t working, Mulder.”

He felt sucker punched. Sat down near her but with miles in between.

“I thought I could separate it but I can’t…”

“I’m not asking you to separate it, Scully!” This was it. This was why Fox Mulder tried not to fall in love. He fucked it up. Every time. “I… I… I say I love you, you don’t say it back – I ask what we are, you say everything. That I fit everywhere. But that’s not really an answer, is it, Scully?”

He turned to her, ready to fight for it all. Their first case back on the X-files; he figured they’d be filling out her transfer sheet next week. He plowed forward. “I’ve asked you ten different ways what we are and you still don’t have a real answer for me, but fuck me if I ask you for a little proof when you come to me accusing my ex-wife-“

“And that’s it, Mulder!” She finally looked at him. Finally evaluated him.

Mulder sat silent in observation.

“Why do I have to verbalize it? You’ve already got an ex-wife. What do you want me to be?” she shrugged, her arms wide and palms heavenward. “Your girlfriend? I’m your fucking partner, Mulder! It might have helped to know you had an ex-wife before I barraged the Gunmen with questions of why you seemed to blindly trust her.”

He was struck dumb and speechless, his jaw working. The only thing hanging in the air, their pants of exertion. Finally, after several starts and stops, Mulder began to speak.

“Scully, I can’t ever say or do anything that’s going to make what happened with Diana right. And I can’t apologize with some grand gesture that’s going to fix what happened at the Gunmen’s place.” He glanced her way, lifted his lips in that sad, halfway smile that had somehow become standard in their lives. “I was wrong. I haven’t talked about it because I don’t know how. How do you tell the person you love that you fucked up that badly?”

Scully didn’t look at him. Shrugged a shoulder in perceived indifference. Mulder held his breath.

“You asked me, Mulder, months ago, what we were. And apparently, I didn’t answer that question sufficiently enough-“

“Scully…” this was it. She was ending it.

“I said everything” she re-interrupted him, “but apparently that’s not enough. You’re not my boyfriend, Mulder. You’re not my husband. You’re my partner-“

“Scully…”

“And if that’s not a good enough term for you, for you to shout from the hills when people ask if you’re involved, then tell them you’ve got a significant other.”

His emotions flooded. She was staying. But significant other? “Scully… all the guys… if they ask me and I say that, they’re gonna think I’m gay.”

The tension in the room broke. Finally. Mostly. 

She gave him a thin, exhausted smile. “Tell them you have one… just not in the widely understood definition of the term.”

He chuckled, as tired as she looked, and fell back in the cushions. “Yeah, that’ll really shut the questions down.”

The air was silent. Heavy. Still unresolved. 

He sat on the couch, slumped, face in his hands. “Don’t ever use this shit as punishment on me again, Scully.”

She moved forward on the cushions and he caught her slight wince before she could hide it. They were both rubbed raw that night.

“Mulder, I…” she trailed. She was terrible with words like this. 

He knew that about her. He loved that about her. For tonight, he heard everything she wanted to say. 

“Go to sleep, Scully. I think we could both use another night apart.”  
He caught her expression falling as she moved from the couch and headed to the stairs. He tossed on the couch for two hours and finally caved, drug himself upstairs. Under the covers and into her bed.

“I’m your significant other, huh?” He pressed her hips, gave her ear lobe a nip.

“Don’t get too hung up on it, Mulder.”

His sigh was heavy. “No. No, I don’t think I will. We need to talk, Dana. Seriously.”

She mmm’d him and curled around his forearm.

He smiled against her neck. “But I think I’m okay being your good boy, though.”

She was asleep before he said ‘I think I’m okay’.


	4. Chapter 4.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Good Boy will… most likely… exist for 5 parts, with Chapter 4 being split, as it is tonight. I hope to have 4.2 up tomorrow but tomorrow’s a busy day so we’ll see what happens. This started as a response to an ask on tumblr. I realized though, and this caused a somewhat developmental gap, that I hadn’t been very honest to my readers in Part 1. I like to stay as true to kink when possible when I write it, and while Part 1 makes mentions of possible forays it never really follows through. My goal through these types of fics are to bring a little kink to the fandom, and remove a little bit of the taboo, while trying to stay true to the characters. Anyway, that said, this chapter is dirty, don’t get me wrong, but it’s pretty vanilla. Part two for this chapter is gonna be a raunch fest.

After Arcadia, Mulder and Scully began to achieve a sort of equilibrium, personally, at least, if not quite yet there professionally. 

Scully knew they needed time, after that night, before they brought up the use of the collar again. Well… Even if Mulder didn’t need time she sure as hell did.

That night was a wake-up call of the grandest proportions. Until then, Scully hadn’t really considered the implications of this, “Good Boy,” thing she had going with Mulder. Inherently, she understood his need for approval, his need for love. 

Scully loved to be needed and Mulder needed to be loved and on paper that seemed like a winning combination. 

Throw in six years, a lot of piping hot brass occasionally tearing its way through their bodies, illnesses and deaths in the family, plus entire childhoods of forming insecurities and hang-ups, she supposed one could see where they might falter.

What hadn’t occurred to her was just the amount of comfort he gained, from their recent forays into experimenting in their bedroom. Scully hadn’t really realized, with the collar, what she was asking of him. Sure, when she’d used it with breath play, she understood that was about getting him to let go, to shut down all the monsters in his head for those few split seconds. Asphyxiating the demons to give him a moment of peace. 

The collar was different. The collar was ownership. And ownership was particularly significant to a man that had spent his life wanting to be owned. Not in the literal sense, of course, Scully had to correct her thinking. Mulder’s soul, if she let herself think in the discretionary sense, had been looking for someone to take him in since the day his parents decided to cast him out. 

As Oedipal as that made him sound, Mulder wasn’t looking for any specific love. Rather, his search was specifically unspecific. Cast adrift, he really was the classic picture of the wet, stray dog, aimlessly pawing for the truth in the form a moderately warm meal and, on good nights, a dry porch. 

She could even see, now that her anger was beginning to clear from their argument in front of the Lone Gunmen, Mulder could even be understood for occasionally showing up to paw at Diana’s door. 

For him, her constant refusal of his beliefs and her tendency to understate or ignore their emotions for each other constituted a deep-seated anxiety and need for that affirmation of ownership. In his own way, Scully supposed, he probably considered the collar as good as a ring.

And when she could have used that to pull him back from their rift over Diana, she’d instead used it as a choke chain, as punishment though and not relief, and she’d violated his trust. His mild submission to her, via the collar, was about that element of faith he placed in her to take care of him, and instead, she’d humiliated him.

To say she felt shitty about it was a Dana Scully understatement of the year. 

Scully wasn’t absolving Mulder of his responsibility or the role he played in the deterioration of their relationship since Antarctica, but she found she now, at the very least, was beginning to understand his reasons. 

Which is why, as she felt him grind up against her on a relatively chilly, early April evening, cracking balls into the outfield with a nice piece of ash, Scully decided it was time for her to make her opening move. 

They’d indulged in one of their other favorite pastimes after their little spring training session: Hood of Mulder’s Jeep beers.

They were each on their second Shiner, feet hanging off the grill of his Cherokee. “Remember that day after Cheney?”

He snickered into his beer. “Yeah… day drunk and being introduced to Shiner? That was a good day.”

She nodded. “Simpler times.”

“Mmm,” and she picked up on the slight uncertainty in his agreement. “Better times?” he asked.

“No, just… simpler.” ‘C’mon Mulder,’ she tried to urge him, relying on their connection. ‘Give me an opening. Let me prove I can handle this. Let me win you back a little.’

“Ah.” Good ol’ Mulder. He made her furious sometimes, but he never let her down. Not when she needed him. “Pre-Diana times.”

“Mulder-“

“Scully-“

“I’m sorry.” They glanced side long at each other and mirrored each other’s soft smiles. 

“Let me… Let me just get this out, Scully. You remember, back in Texas that day, Shiner Day? You remember how for just a little bit, I was pissed off. Pissed off about-“

“Ed, mostly, but you pretended it was about Hartwell,” she grumbled, and didn’t miss the annoyed but indulging little pull at his lips.

“Okay, all I’m saying here, is we both know what that really was. And I guess what I’m shooting for here… and epically failing, I might add, to describe… is I was jealous. Plain and simple.”

Scully focused down on her beer, watching as the chilled fog hovered in the bottle. 

“Hey,” he ducked his head, catching her gaze. “I won’t take back what I say in Arcadia. I can’t fix what’s happened between us with Diana, with the Gunmen. But I can say that, and I know… I know it’s not the same… but that kind of jealousy. Scully that runs white hot. And I-“

She didn’t let him get the rest of his sentence out. “Shut up, Mulder,” and she was on him. She felt him moan into her as she reintroduced her tongue to his. Heard his beer bottle bounce off the hood and crack on the ground. Felt the hood of his Jeep dip into their weight. It had been weeks, but she was putting a stop to that drought tonight.

This minute, if she had her way. 

Before Mulder could make a move, she had his jeans unzipped and him worked out of his boxer shorts, and she began to fist him dry, taking him light enough to not rub him raw. 

“Oh holy shiiiiiii-“

She was back on his mouth. Starved for him. And make no mistake. Because even as she felt herself ache for him, this was not about her. Not directly. This was about reclaiming ownership. 

Scully never understood women who didn’t enjoy head. She did get there were women with bad experiences, partners who ruined it, but she’d been lucky in that regard. And from her experience (because what they said about Catholic School girls was utterly true), there really was no better way to exert control, to exert ownership, over a man than well and truly owning his dick. 

She ground herself down over his rigid thigh and God help her she could come from that alone. Would, if she kept it up, but this was not about her.

She left him sprawled spread eagle on his hood, and when he went to follow her kept a strong hand on his sternum. “No, Mulder. Lay back.”

“But-“

“I said. Lay. Back.”

Mulder made a long, “ungh…” and as he followed her tasking she sat about hers.

Now, from her vantage standing between his legs, mouth down on him, she was able to soak his head, letting her saliva run down in between short strokes and coat him. She was thirsty for him, utterly starved, and it showed, her spit wash soaking his dick, giving a wet pop as she began to pump him again.

She kissed his glans fondly, bidding it a temporary farewell as she headed south. She gave him a lick at his base and then a nip on his sack before flattening her tongue and then taking his balls broadly like that. 

“Oh my god, what the fuck,” he panted roughly, his jeep protesting as his hips popped. She continued fisting him as she took his testicles in hand, then gently sucked on the one opposite, pulling him fully into her mouth. “Oh my fucking god, Scully, yeah, ah fuck baby, ah god my balls.” 

She grinned around him, continuing to massage him gently while she pumped his shaft firmer. His hips kept a steady metronomic pulse and she could feel his balls begin to draw up so she moved in for the kill, shifting her massaging hand down to his perineum and pressing firmly up. 

Mulder, usually vocal, gave a sharp and choked gasp and couldn’t seem to take another breath as he pounded into her hand.

Scully moved off his testicles and up the head of his cock just in time to catch the first spurt of cum against the roof of her mouth. God, he was coming like a fire hydrant.

Mulder had the where-with-all to raise up and watch, and she held him on her broad tongue as he jetted three, four more times into her. He saw it all before she swallowed him.

His head banged back against the hood and bounced. 

Scully giggled as she finished cleaning him off. 

Somehow, her beer had ridden the journey with them, on the opposite side of the hood, and she took a couple of swigs as she grinned his way. 

“Scully,” his infamous powers of speech had returned. “Scully, I’ve never felt the urge to teabag a woman but after tonight, you’re going to have to start watching yourself.”

She snickered again and slapped his thigh as he tucked himself in, still flat on his back, looking to the stars. “Try it and you’re dead to me.” She leaned over him and kissed him, imagining he was tasting beer and a hint of himself. God the thought made her wet.

Mulder never shied away from making out after blow jobs, and if Scully hated one thing about the act with previous lovers, it was their habit of doing just that. She might not have really been able to say it yet, but God, she was in love with this man.

They made out, lazy and sloppy for another minute. “C’mon Mulder. We’ve got another two beers plus a second six pack to drink, and I’m not through with you.”

He let her pull him up off the jeep. “If you want my dick to maintain its frenetic reputation, we’re probably gonna have to hold off on some of those beers.

She looked at him across the hood of the car, and shook her head. Her mischievous smile from her oral sexcapades softened. “All I need from you tonight is you, Mulder. C’mon, Shiner and movie. Old times?”

He understood. “Nah. New times maybe. Better times.” He was finally seemed to be regaining the power to both breath and think, as he popped open his car doors and slid in.

“Thank you, Mulder, by the way. This was an amazing, very late birthday present.”

He shot her a side eye and grin as they pulled from the parking lot, ignoring her questioning look as they shot by her car. “We’ll get it tomorrow. You owe me beer and bad comedy, and I’m not missing a minute of it.”


	5. 4.2  The Good Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Unnatural, post blow job, what comes next for Mulder and Scully?

He wasn’t nervous on the drive over, but Mulder was distinctly unsettled. Scully hadn’t left him hanging back there – far from it actually – but he could feel her thinking next to him. 

She may have said all she needed from him was a movie and beer, but Mulder knew his partner. They spent the last seven years learning to anticipate each other, and she was anything but relaxed.

Even so, he could also tell when there was danger brewing. Scully pissed off was like a hurricane: visible, trackable, but with enough unpredictability to be devastating. To be deadly.

There was none of that in the air tonight. He sensed her unsettledness, but he felt none of the storm that’d hung over their relationship like a death pall these past months. Still, the knot that had tied itself in his stomach since Antarctica (really, since Diana   
had come back into his life and Scully had seemed determined to leave it) the knot that had twisted itself slowly like poison through his gut as their partnership continued to burn to the ground around him… that knot refused to loosen. 

She hadn’t rejected him tonight. But that little part of Mulder that sat, demonic on his shoulder, whispering that nothing he ever did was enough for whatever cause he sat in pursuit, refused to believe he’d managed to finally take some successful steps towards making things right. 

For a man whose pursuit of The Truth was fueled by belief, Mulder sure had spent a significant of time wallowing in doubt. 

Parking by her apartment was quick but she was slow to leave the Jeep. He glanced her way, saw the small ticks he recognized as her gathering herself. 

“Hey,” he slipped his hand over, nudging her forearm softly. “Everything okay, Scully?” 

She shot him a side eye and small smile. “Yeah. Yeah Mulder, everything’s fine. Let’s go up, okay?”

Shit.

He’d taken his shot with the batting practice. Hoped she’d seen through him. Hoped that she’d seen what he was offering. 

For Mulder, his love of the game was one of the last pure things in his life. Baseball was innocent. Passionate for him. As simple as a snap of the hips and crack of the bat. 

When he let himself love her – when she let him love her – it was much the same. Mulder was sure of one thing. His love for her was far from innocent, but it was pure. It was love that had chased him all the way to 1939.

The bang of his door as she left the car, beer in hand, to head up shook him out of reverie. 

Shit. 

It made sense, now. Her off-kilter tension on the ride over. Her nervous little ticks – the fiddling of her fingers and clinch of her hands… She’d said all she needed was beer and a movie and nothing more, and fuck. She’d meant it. 

The knot inside him tightened. She was breaking up with him. Letting him down gently. 

Shit.

A lot of men would have started the car and drove home. Bad news came best at two in the morning over the telephone, when you didn’t have to stare it in the face right away.

Mulder wasn’t a lot of men. He preferred to stare tragedy down, even if it paralyzed him. Resigned to his fate, he sighed and slid out the driver’s side door. He hadn’t struck out, he supposed. Merely was held to first best. Perpetually, even. But she’d invited   
him over regardless. 

The way this whole thing had started. Shiner and a movie on her couch. She might be breaking things off, but she was offering him her friendship, at least, and if he had to deal with that, he would. He’d been the one to fuck it up, and if being his friend was   
all she could give him, well… he’d take it. It’d hurt like hell, but Mulder was as faithful to those who chose to be in his life as any other beaten mutt. 

At the end of the day, he supposed, it was better to be loved some way, than not loved at all. 

He slinked up the steps behind her, hovering over her on the way to her apartment door. Rested his head on her shoulder and nosed her neck in a nuzzle and a sigh as she slid the key in the lock. 

She breathed a soft chuckle and clinched away from him. “Tickles.” She seemed to gather herself, one last time.

“Mmm.” Shit.

The door creaked open and he followed her in.

And all his worry exploded into instant and awkwardly relieved confusion, as she grabbed the sleeve of his jacket roughly by the shoulder and spun him up against the door face first, slamming it shut and pinning his back. She reached around him to flip the lock, kicking one of his feet out as she did, spreading his stance and burying her hip against the small of his back.

This did not feel like breaking up. 

She’d managed to manhandle him in his surprise, and she had him stuck to the wall, pinned like a moth on exhibit, and his face cracked lightly against the door frame as she moved her fist from his shoulder to bury in the hair at the back of his head.

Mulder could have possibly moved her at this point, but Scully was seven years a cop, now, no longer a lab rat or fresh-faced rookie. She knew how to hold a guy… at the very least until her partner could get there to help out. 

“Scully?”

“I need you to stay. You understand?”

“What-“

“Stay,” she reiterated, and though there was no threat in her tone, Mulder understood she was fully serious. “Do not move, you got it?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah I got it.”

She held him a moment more and he could feel her decision to trust him, as she loosened her grip and moved of from his back. 

He didn’t move. Somehow, he knew if he made her tell him twice, it would break something between them. Something he’d only managed to start to help repair, out there on that baseball field. The knot inside him loosened. Just a little. 

She’d moved out of his field of vision, but he could hear her shifting through the room. He heard the open and shut of her refrigerator, heard the clink of the bottles as she set the beer down.

How in the hell had she managed to get the jump on him with beer in her hands? Wonders never ceased.

The sound of a drawer, and the hum of the television as she turned it on. Surely… surely, she wasn’t going to make him stay here through a movie. Right?

The snick of a movie going into the VCR. A preview started up. He heard another drawer open, and the faint clink of metal. What in the hell was she cooking up?

He felt her come up behind him. The sound from the movie faded into the background. The hair on his neck stood up. Everything on him was waiting for what she had to say next.

She still hovered, just out of his sight line. She touched him then, both hands at the back of his neck, knuckles against him, grasping the back of his jacket collar. “Take half a step back,” she ordered, and he complied. Her hands came around him and began   
to slide the zipper of his jacket down, the snick of the teeth almost impossibly loud to him. 

“We haven’t been very good to each other, Mulder,” she murmured, as she slid the leather off his shoulders, pulling his jacket off as she spoke.

“I-“ he started.

“I didn’t tell you to talk.” 

He shut his mouth

“Stay right there.” She moved away from him to hang his jacket, and came back. “Stay there, but relax.”

For the first time since getting into his car to drive them here, he chuckled and smiled, felt himself blush at the sound of what could best be described as him nervously giggling. “Kinda difficult to relax right now, Scully.”

She was up against his back again, and he felt her raise up on her tiptoes, felt her breath hot at the edge of his ear. “I didn’t tell you to talk.” 

Suddenly, it was too much. Her breath, her up against him. The life that’d been sucked out of his cock an hour ago surged back. He could feel himself jump in his pants. 

She pressed herself behind him, her arms coming up between his and his torso, and her hands began a firm dance up and down his pectorals, his abdomen. But the vibe he was getting from her wasn’t erotic. She was stopping at his belly button and moving back up, in a massage.

The blood rushing south began to recede, slightly. He felt her cheek press flat between his shoulder blades, right between the top of the two and the zero on the back of his jersey. She must have taken off her boots, her coat, too it felt like. He felt her belly expand against him in a little sigh. 

“We haven’t been very good to each other, lately,” she repeated. “And, I’m not asking you to explain anything you’ve done. But I am asking you to trust me, tonight. Can you do that?”

“I trust you with my life, Scully.”

He hissed as her massage stopped and she clamped his nipple down between her finger and thumb. Hard.

“Sc-“

“Mulder.” Her voice was firm, but not harsh, and he broke off. She spoke again. “I didn’t tell you to talk.”

His jaw clamped shut again and this time it was with an audible snap. What the hell was going on tonight with her?

“I’m going to ask you again. Can you trust me tonight?” Her hands had resumed their slow massage of him. It almost felt like… was she petting him?

The synapses in his brain began to fire and it suddenly clicked, what this was. He tensed in her arms, but she didn’t stop stroking him.

The last time they’d tried this, he’d felt humiliated afterwards. He’d been angry with her, for weeks.

When they’d first dipped their toes in this… thing… between them… it had taken him a lot of trust with her, a lot of faith to not make him feel like a pervert. To feel like a pussy, with her ordering him around. And she hadn’t. She’d never taken advantage of him.

The night she’d first asked him to trust her like this, the night she’d first put words to it, after the case with Linda Bowman, he’d taken the plunge and succumbed fully to her. To being her good boy. 

And it had loosened all the guilt and all the anxiety in him. To give himself up to someone like that. Someone who wouldn’t abuse his belief, his reliance of them. To give himself up like that and have her embrace him, own him, with all his flaws…

He’d never felt more fully in love. More fully loved. He never would have made it back from the hell in his head, after that case, after seeing himself shoot her. He never would have made it back to the FBI without her faith in him at that point. 

In Arcadia, she’d taken that trust and shredded it. And him. He knew her reasons. He’d created those reasons. He’d tested her faith as much as she, his. He understood that. 

But that night, even after they talked, he felt the one thing he never thought he’d feel with her. He’d felt shame. In himself. In his need for her. 

Did he trust her? With this? He took a big gulp of air and held it, his chest expanding against her continued strokes. He’d softened completely now, down south. It hit him, at that point, why she was approaching him like this.

She’d been truthful, earlier. This wasn’t about sex. The knot in his gut continued to untie itself as he let a slow breath out. She wasn’t asking for him to explain himself for anything. And that knowledge brought him a feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time. He felt comfort. They were going to be okay. 

He was going to be okay.

Could he trust her with this? Yeah. 

Mulder nodded, and he knew she must have been watching him for any sign, because as soon as he did she responded, “Yeah? You sure?”

He knew. She was only going to go as far as he wanted. Mulder nodded again.

“Turn around, Mulder.”

Finally. He turned around and wrapped her up, burying his face in her neck, in her scent. God. He’d missed her. 

They stayed like that for another minute or so, before she pulled back from him and led him around the sofa. Laying there, in the center, was the collar. The small leash it’d come with wasn’t attached to it. She grabbed it from the cushion and offered it out to him.

He stood there, stared at her evenly. She returned his gaze. The air in the room sat heavy. 

He nodded again, saw her release a breath as he took it from her. He cocked a smile and an eyebrow, with the tilt of his head, then shifted down to his knees, kneeling in front of her. Offered her the collar back. Saw the understanding dawn in her eyes.

She was in charge.

He opened his eyes when he felt her move away from him. Sat back on his heels as he watched her move around her sofa to the kitchen and grab two beers from the fridge, un-capping them and heading back his way.

Sound started to flood back to him. The TV droned behind him. She sat down on the end of the sofa.

“Get up here, Mulder.”

He smiled and moved up, center cushion.

“You can take a drink of your beer, if you want,” she said, handing it to him.

She sipped hers, moved it to the coffee table, and relaxed back into the cushions. He followed suit.

As soon as his back hit the sofa, she had her arm around him, tugging him down, moving so he was laying on his side with his head in her lap. She ran her nails lightly through his scalp.

Mulder couldn’t have told anyone what the movie was, if they’d asked. His eyes slipped shut as he relaxed into the sensation of her taking care of him.

“We don’t do this much, Mulder. Talk. Or, at least I don’t.” She kept up the light scratching through his hair.

His arms had broken out in goosebumps, but thankfully his dick appeared to be behaving itself. This was not about sex. At least not yet. And he didn’t want it to be. Right now, he just felt too good.

“Sometimes I think I can’t get a word in edge wise, with you always running your mouth.” The smile in her voice kept him relaxed in her lap. He felt his lips twitch up.

Ah. She had more than one motive with her command to not talk.

“You were right, earlier. About… Diana.” Her voice hung up on the name and Mulder felt his gut twist. Diana had become his unsolvable problem.

At the heart of the issue was he was beginning to suspect that not only had Scully been, at the very least, justified in her suspicions, but that she’d hit the nail right on the head about his former lover. And how did one then go apologizing about such a thing to the one person whose loyalties had never been in doubt? If the situation were reversed, Mulder knew where he would stand.

What he had done had been unforgivable. And he had no clue how to set about making it right. That realization had sent him into a paralyzed state of inaction with regards to Scully.

Scully interrupted his self-imposed guilt trip. “I was jealous. I’ve been jealous. But that doesn’t mean I was wrong about her, either, Mulder.”

He sighed and nodded his head. He felt his throat start to close-up and it wasn’t from the collar.

Mulder felt like he’d been a lot of bad, and it hadn’t been the good kind of bad.

“Mulder, I did mean what I said in Arcadia.” He opened his eyes. “You are as significant to me as anyone. But what you did when I confronted you about her, and particularly the fact that you did it in front of people, Mulder, that can’t happen again. Do you understand? Ever again.”

He heaved a breath and nodded in her lap.

“As much as I…” she trailed off and he felt her inhale and hold, working her self up to something. “As much as I love you,” Mulder’s eyes popped open, “it comes down to trust, doesn’t it?”

Another nod. She loved him?

“You still have my trust, Mulder.” He was slowly beginning to breath harder. He could feel her speech gaining momentum. Leading somewhere. “And someday, we need to really talk about this. Mulder, I’m sorry for the way I treated you in Arcadia. That was very wrong of me.”

He held still.

“But Mulder, I think there’s one thing we can agree on.” He felt her lean down, closer. Her voice dropped. “You’ve been a bad boy.” He nodded again, sensed she wouldn’t ever take this to the same place she did in Arcadia.

She’d made her apologies. It was time for him to make his.

As he was beginning to plan his next step, he heard the metallic clip of the leash, and it stopped his train of thought cold. She moved her nails from his head and scratched down his arm.

“You’re going to get up, and you’re going to follow me to the bedroom. Your apology starts now.”

Oh. This night wasn’t about sex. No, she’d been right on that front. This night was about penance. And he planned to pay her his, in full.

She moved from under his head, rising to stand and pulling on his leash as she did. He followed her motions, wordless, obedient. Scully led him down the hall and into the bedroom, leaving him standing at the foot of the bed.

She snapped the leash off again. “Stay.” She moved toward her nightstand, placing it down as she flipped on the light.

Scully moved back in front of Mulder. He tracked her, felt his pants start to tighten across himself. Felt his mouth water.

She’d blown him to heavy on the hood of his car. He had a pretty good idea of what she was about to ask him to do. And he was hungry for it. Competitive to out-do her, to show off, to apologize in every way he knew how.

Earlier, it had been about him. About him needing to feel safe. About him needing to feel wanted. To feel owned. To feel loved.

Now?

Now the night was about showing her why she made the right choice, the right decision when she chose years ago to bring his soul in from the cold.

“Take off your shirts.”

He did, unbuttoning his jersey and slipping his long-sleeve over his head. She mirrored him. She followed with directions for the rest of what he was wearing, taking things off as he did. She added her bra and panties to the pile.  
Mulder felt oddly like he was behind bars, under her appraising eyes. He could feel his dick, already bobbing in front of him, heavy between his legs. Stamina regained.

“Yeah,” she cocked her eyebrow at him. “You’ll do.”

He wagged his eyebrows once at her, shoulders shaking with a chuckle.

Mulder knew, right now, this was him at his best. Confidence in full swing from the evening’s events.

She sat on the mattress, slid back until she was spread to him, leaning back on her elbows.

God. He bit both lips, his jaw working.

“Mulder.” He nodded. “Get over here and get to work. And this better be the best you’ve ever eaten pussy in your life.”

He groaned as he followed her motions, moving up the bed on all fours, arms and shoulders slipping underneath her legs. Fuck, she was already wet. How long had she been wet?

Mulder nipped her, just above her pubic mound, drawing the metal d-ring from the collar up and down the hood of her clit. The cold from the collar must have startled her, because she hissed in a breath and held. He held her gaze, felt her evaluating him.

This was a test in eating her out, and Mulder had always been a straight ‘a’ student.

“Put that tongue to work, Mulder.”

He moaned once as he moved down. No need to be gentle at this point. He licked her from perineum to clit, his tongue broad and thick, once and again. Soaking himself with the taste of her.

Fuck.

They’d worked up a little sweat out there on the diamond, and this was Scully as he loved her most, when he did this. Heavy with the taste of her, his nose full of the scent that drove straight through to his cock.

He could stroke himself off right now, if she asked him too. But she hadn’t, and he wouldn’t, and even then, he didn’t think either of them wanted this to be over too soon.

He slid his tongue into her, thrusting, pumping her in long strokes. She moaned as her head fell back and he answered with one of his own. Moved up to flick at her clit, wondering if he spelled ‘good boy’ enough times it would validate her choosing him to make her own.

She was as hard for him as he was for her.

He slipped an index finger in as he worked, driving in twice before slipping his middle in and stilling. He spread his fingers apart in her, held her open to him, and felt her tighten up as her hips popped his face.

Fuck, she was hot. He had to see, had to have a better view. He moved off, flipped them.

“Mulder, what-“ even as she complained she followed his lead, straddling his shoulders with her pussy directly over his mouth. “I didn’t tell you to do that,” she scolded him, but he grabbed her hips and pulled her down and that was the last time she complained. “Ah, God, Mulder.”

He was fucking the air, hips setting up a slow solo thrust in tempo with his fingers, back in her.

He withdrew, held her inches up off him to gather his breath, staring up at her lips. He needed more of that taste. He spread her with his thumbs and groaned, licking all around her, in her, then back to focus on her clit.

He felt her hand brush against his as she reached behind her, and he pulled back to watch.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

He went back to work as she fingered herself, her hips setting a thrust up against him. She shifted her finger back, slipping up to the second knuckle in her ass, and holy fuck, he had to pin his hips down and tight because he almost shot off like a volcano.

It was gonna be that kind of night, huh?

He could take a hint, sliding two fingers back into her, holding. Slipping a third. He could feel her. Fuck, she was close. He used his free hand to pull her back hard onto his face, eating her now for all he was worth.

He didn’t know if the moisture running down his neck was her, or his sweat, and right now, he didn’t care. He was as hard as he’d ever been and he needed her to cum.

And she did. With a sharp, “Mulder!” and a thrust to his face that damn near broke his nose as she fell forward on him with her hands above his head.

“Jesus, Mulder.”

He smiled as he withdrew his fingers. But his smile faded fast. He needed her. Now. She had to know. She needed to tell him.

“Mulder,” she panted, slowly regaining her breath. “I need you to fuck me. Now.”

He groaned hoarsely, sliding quickly out from under her and behind, wasting no time in slamming home and gluing his thighs to her.

The moaned in unison and he fell forward, panting in time with her as she supported their weight. He set up a hard grind in slow circles, barely thrusting. Helping her come down from her orgasm with pressure on the walls of her cunt.

When he felt like he could support himself he rose up to kneeling and begin a slow, mid-range pump of her.

“No, Mulder.” No? “Mulder, I need you to fuck my ass. Fill me up.”

His eyes rolled back as he let out a low, guttural growl. He reached over to the nightstand, pulled out a small bottle of lube and a condom, tearing the package open with his teeth. Once he had it rolled on, he took himself in his fist and moved up to her ass.

He penetrated with shallow, slow thrusts, holding for a few seconds between each one to drop lube down the crack of her ass and onto the head of his cock. They both gasped out as the head popped in.

‘That’s right,’ he thought, because she still hadn’t told him he could talk. ‘That’s right, baby. Open up for me.’ She was cockring tight around him, and he thanked whatever part of his anatomy controlled his dick and whatever deity had influenced her to give him the blowjob of his life earlier that night, because he was able to last.

The last time he’d fucked her ass, he’d blown his load in about two seconds.

He got past the thick of himself, both of them soaked now with lube from the bottle and from her. When he finally sacked himself against her pussy, he held, letting her adjust and giving them both a chance to breathe.

Mulder backed out of her slightly, settling into a shallow grind he knew drove her mad. He slipped a hand around and sunk two fingers in to her pussy. Fucking hell, she was tight as shit. He could feel himself. He sunk his teeth into his lip, face tight with the effort of control.

He lengthened his thrusts and his thumb began a strategic attack, circling the slick of her clit. She was so wet he couldn’t even feel what he was doing, but her speech had degraded into a steady stream of “Mulders” with a few choice F-bombs – wait… did she just call him Fox? – so he knew he must be doing something right.

“Mulder, talk. I wanna hear…” another hard grunt from her, “I need to hear you talk.”

“Ah fuck, Scully, god fucking dammit I lovefuckingyousofuckingmuch,” he exploded as he pounded her. “Come for me; fucking come for me dammit,” and he felt her clinch again as, for the first time that night, she obeyed him.

He gritted his teeth and stopped moving as she clamped down on him, the line moving from pleasure to sharp and sweet pain. “Fuck,” he growled. He knew what he wanted.

The second he felt her slow, he pulled out of her ass, ripping the condom off and driving straight back into her pussy. Her cry out rattled the walls. He pounded her, driving her down onto the mattress as he glued himself to her, hips setting up a slapping rhythm he knew her neighbors were hearing.

He didn’t care. He had one objective. He was so far gone he couldn’t talk. He growled against her, low and feral, his teeth bared against the back of her neck. In his head, he set up a steady chant. Fuck her, fill her up, breed her, mate her, give her everything   
you are, every single fucking thing you have.

With three more wet, loud pops of his hips, he did just that, grinding himself hard against her as he spilled everything he had into her. He collapsed fully on top of her, shaking.

Mulder was soaked head to toe with sweat, with himself, with her. He rolled off her, slow, on to his back.

“Jesus, Mulder,” she repeated, her face still buried in the comforter.

His limbs were tingling. He began to doubt he would ever move again.

Their breathing continued to settle, and the sounds of the apartment came back to him. The tick of her clock. The low hum of the television. The vibration of traffic down the street.

Finally, he supposed she gathered enough energy, because she pulled herself up enough to slip under his arm and lay her head against his sweat-soaked chest. She smacked a kiss wetly against him.

“That was…” she trailed off.

“Yeah…” his voice was just-woke-up gravel in the soft light of her room. The weight of the evening began to settle over him and he felt himself slip into a doze.

His body couldn’t seem to process being fellated the way he had earlier, and being fucked the way he’d just been in the same evening. He felt short circuited, and at the same time, more at ease than he’d been in months. Maybe in years.

He felt her move up and off him. Barely registered as she moved about the room, turning of the light, moving around in a light effort to clean up, dumping his boxers on top of his groin. He was coherent enough to take the hint, and cleaned himself off before dumping the boxers back on the floor and managing to pull the covers back enough to slip in between.

She came back in, the house now shrouded in late night silence, and slipped in beside him, resuming her earlier spot on his chest. She slung her arm across his stomach, pecked him with a soft kiss.

“Mmm…” he murmured. “I think you drained the life out of me through my cock, Scully.”

She huffed with a chuckle. “You’re a very, very good boy, Mulder.”

He huffed back with one of his own, before quickly stilling, then lifting his head to look at her. “Scully. I love you.”

She caught his gaze. “I know.”

For the first time, he didn’t care she didn’t say it back. He knew, now. He was hers, and to him, that was all that mattered. They had a lot to work out, but they had time for all of that.

The collar stayed on until morning.

The End. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, for all intents and purposes, the end of Good Boy. There will be an additional epilogue. However. The epilogue is going to piss a lot of people off. So if you liked this fic, I hope this chapter is great for you and I would encourage you to end it here. I anticipate posting the epilogue within the next few days. 
> 
> I want to thank Lepusarcticus and Wtfmulder for beta-ing the story. They course corrected me in a good way a few times. Any mistakes still left in the fic are all mine.
> 
> Good Boy has been a journey for me. It started as a joke in a response to an ask on Tumblr. Not my Tumblr mind you; someone else's. However after I wrote, and received decent response, to Chapter 1 I realized I could really take this somewhere. The purpose of the fic became to turn something fairly kinky into something that would be in character for Mulder and Scully. I hope I've done that. And in doing so, I hope for at least one or two people out there, I've normalized kink a little bit. Because even a perfectly normal person may enjoy having a tail-tipped butt plug shoved up their ass.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Please note updated trigger warnings. This is the conclusion of Good Boy. The rest of my notes are at the end.

Things got better, after that. At least in the bedroom. That they loved each other was certain. How and when, and ultimately how well, they loved each other, was an issue that would plague them the rest of their lives.

Or so Mulder thought.

The collar stood for a lot of things. Mostly it stood for her love of him. And when he began to fail, to really fail, the collar was put away. 

He began to fail her incrementally.

He died. Or rather, he basically died.

He came back to life, but that wasn’t good enough. 

He had holes in his skin… a patchy beard, and a line through his chest hair that would never heal the same.

He had nightmares. He’d always had nightmares, but now they included his son, building a sand castle UFO, only to have creatures from another world slink up on the beach. They were slimy and alien and yet he’d seen them before, eyes and noses dripping with oil and blood pouring off their claws. 

They crawled towards the kid on the beach and tore him apart. Mulder couldn’t move… in these dreams.

It was no wonder he left the second she suggested it was safer for them all if he did. He didn’t even put up a fight.

Mulder didn’t put up a fight for a long time. How could he? Life can only kick a man in the balls so many times before he starts to kind of give in.

He got half of what he wanted. He got the girl and the house. The family. But the family was torn apart.

He never wanted to bring the collar into their avoidance of William. It was his one source of comfort and not even for his son could he bear to give it up. The collar stayed stashed. He wasn’t even sure she knew he still had it.

The day they got William back into their lives ended up being the day she began to save the world. Mulder did his fair share.

Getting out of a funk sucked. But it made him stronger. For months, he ditched the bottle, taped up his wrists, and hit the gym. The bag. The bench.

“You’re gettin’ big, old guy,” she murmured against him one night, and she wasn’t talking about this cock. 

“205,” he mumbled, as she rubbed her hands down his pecs. “Think I can hit 210 by Christmas.” 

One day, it occurred to Mulder that Scully looked as good at 60 as she had at 30. 

Better, maybe.

And a little inkling began to take shape in his mind. 

They’d started working out together. Both drank the CrossFit Kool-Aid. And she recovered faster. 

Every. Damn. Time. 

The thought sent gooseflesh across his arms and chest, made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. 

How the hell would one go about testing a hypothesis such as this?

He couldn’t very well push her in front of a fucking train, could he? Not believing someone can die is very different from wanting someone to die, because Fox Mulder sure as hell didn’t want her dead. But he needed to know.

He got his answer in the most mundane of ways. 

“Hello, am I speaking to uh… to Mulder?” The man’s voice was muffled by the sound of traffic, but cacophonous in the study. 

“Yes?” he squeaked.

“Yes sir, uh… please stay calm-“

“What the fuck happened to her?”

“Sir, your uh… your wife was involved in a car wreck-“

“No, she wasn’t.”

“And she’s currently being Life-Flighted to GWU-“

“She’s not.”

“And sir… William, William was with her-“  
Mulder could hear the sounds of his son, muffled. “Let me talk to him – kid you gotta step back – let me fucking talk to him!”

“Mulder!”

“William!” Mulder almost dropped the phone, pulling on his jacket while talking. “I’m headed down.” Thank christ. His son could talk; his son was fine. 

“Mulder, it’s… it’s bad. I’m at-“ William rattled of directions and Mulder followed, picked him up and headed to the hospital.

If she died, it would be the end of him. 

She didn’t. 

And so… he began to suspect. 

She couldn’t.

Clyde had been right. 

Her injuries in the wreck had been severe. No other person would have come out of that, but she did.  
In record time.

Dana Scully… his wife… his partner… had seen death, once.

And she had looked away.

And so, as their lives continued, he remained convinced.

She healed, all the time. Though she seemed older, now and again, she never seemed too thin. She didn’t get hurt, the way he did.

They would chase suspects to the end of their FBI days, and his back would give out… or at the very least, he’d need a massage. The next morning he’d be icing, and she’d be making breakfast. 

They avoided the topic. As partners do.

But they both knew.

Mulder would wake up, see her staring him down at night. It was cold, hard, fear. She couldn’t bare to see him, he thought. In his age.

When he needed the little blue pill, she almost burst into tears. It had nothing to do with her respect for him. 

He was getting older, and she… well…

Scully wasn’t.

Fucking Clyde.

Mulder fought it with his typical flair. He was Fox-Fucking-Mulder and he finally had it all. His son was a probie-fire fighter. That woodland-creature-loving geek.

His partner finally had faith in him. 

And he couldn’t even get his dick up half the time to please her. 

And then… one day… he didn’t even remember her name. Alzheimer’s, they said. 

‘Well fuck off,’ he thought. ‘I won’t spend a second hurting her now.’

_Scully,_

_I know you’re probably pretty pissed at me right now, and you’ve got every right to be. But before you shred this, I need you to take one more fantastical leap of faith with me, here, in this plane of existence, where we stood together with our backs against the wall fighting monsters for so long. Please Scully. I need you to hear me._

_This past year has been terrifying for us both, and don’t try to argue… just hush for me and save it for the end. I’ve seen it on your face, the fear. Every time I misplaced the keys or sat there searching for the words in a debate which previously would have come so easy. Do you know how horrific that’s been, Scully? I’m having trouble finding words just for this letter and if I can’t find them now, sitting here staring at this notepad, how am I gonna keep up with you?_

_If there is one thing I know, it’s that I cannot bare to look at your face the way I saw it yesterday, when I took that fall off the porch. This is tearing us apart._

_Dana, I’ve been keeping the worst of it from you. There are… I’ve forgotten unforgivable things, only to have them resurface hours or days later. Last week I rolled over in bed and._

_Shit._

_This is fucking impossible to talk about. I rolled over in bed and Scully I couldn’t even remember your last name. I knew you were Dana and I knew you were my whole universe, and I could remember everything about our lives together, except your fucking last name._

_And that’s when I knew – in light of what we now know to be the truth of Clyde’s words – that I cannot force you to endure this illness with me. I won’t. Let’s face it, Scully. As much as we’ve always been connected physically, it’s what we have up in those skulls of ours that kept us together. Even when you were on the other side of the world, I could swear to a higher power I knew if anything bad was happening to you – and you to me. We’ve been connected cosmically forever, maybe._

_I know you won’t read Art of Racing in the Rain because the dog dies (bare with me here, Scully, this is going somewhere, I promise), but I really, really need you to read that first chapter, because that’s you, Scully. And I’m the dog (haha… pun on the whole collar situation not intended). You’d keep me alive for the next century if you could, my brain floating in a mason jar when my body finally fails us._

_So please don’t be mad at me for this. And please, at the very least, please, because I know your first reaction is going to be that frustrated, disbelieving laugh through tears with an incredulous, “Mulder, you fucking asshole…” Please hold on to that laugh. To that smile. Please. Please, be disgusted, I get it, this is fucking crude but please understand that I knew your first reaction was going to be that disbelieving, angry little laugh._

_I’m nothing without my memories, Scully. Please understand why the last thing I want in my life on this plane is to be lying there in a bed again, unable to fight my way through my brain to remember who or what you are to me. I can’t have you live the next hundred years of your life, if you have to, with your last visions of me being me covered in my own piss, you needing to wipe me down and turn me every two hours._

_Scully, you are the only person that I feel can understand this, as many fights as we’ve had about this very issue. As always, you are only one I trust._

_I don’t need to tell you what these past thirty-eight years have meant to me. You gave me our son. You gave me my sister. You delivered me from evil. And Scully, you gave me a life. And if I never believed in your God, or some religious ideal, you made me believe. You made me believe that if nothing else, there is something to fate. And mine is with you._

_So, let me leave you with this. I will find you again, Dana Scully. I went to the edge of this earth for you. I came back from death for you. Three times. So, don’t you fucking dare doubt I’m going to find you again. We are transcendental._

_You are my constant. My touchstone. And I will be forever yours._

_Mulder_

He’d taken care of everything. 

William was deployed.

Scully was out of the house.

He grabbed the box and opened it. Perfect.

He refused to see her suffer through the rest of this. Refused. Fucking Clyde. He’d always been right.

Mulder wasn’t a scientist, but he’d always been thorough. 

He would never fucking do it in the house, let her come home to that. Or William. 

No. 

This was going to be off-site. He wasn’t going to leave her with those type of memories. She wouldn’t find him. Neither would his kid. 

He knew the ledge. He knew the tree. He knew the branch. 

He knew he needed exactly four more feet of rope tied to his lead to do the job. 

And he knew he needed one of those little blue pills.

He took a swig of whiskey. 

Fastened the collar. Snapped on the leash.

He hadn’t drunk straight from the bottle like that since he got her back.

As always in times of desperation, his dick popped up to the task. 

He sat down. Laid back. Thought of their very best times. Of her, telling him he was hers. Telling him he was safe. Telling him he was loved. The time she first told him he was her Good Boy. The time he slammed into her, after fucking her ass. 

He thought of it all.

He jerked himself. Already hard. Damn, modern medicine was ridiculous.

She was always there, he realized. For all of it. For the best and the worst of him. He’d follow her through space and time. 

He hit speed dial #3. 911. 

“You’ve reached 911, what is your emergency?”

He jumped. The leash and rope cracked.

\-----

The knock on the door almost made her fall off her seat. Through the peephole, she saw the director from the funeral home and frowned.

“Can I… can I help you?”

He cleared his throat and shuffled uncomfortably. “Ma’am… Ms. Scully,” he cleared his throat again and focused his eyes just past her. “I uh. Well this is incredibly uncomfortable for me but you’re uh…”

“My partner.”

“Yes. Your partner. Well… some how we came into possession of some of his uhm… effects. And well… it wasn’t in my best judgement to actually have these returned at all but that’s not strictly legal, either, and you being retired FBI well… I’m so sorry ma’am but it just didn’t sit right with me.”

Her eyebrow was sky high.

The man shifted on his feet, sensing the need to get on with it. “Ma’am, for some reason, this wasn’t returned with some of Mr. Mulder’s other effects and uh-“

The bag he handed to her made her gasp. “Oh, my God.” 

The collar. The fucking collar.

“Like I said ma’am, I really didn’t think I should-“

Her burst of laughter cut him off. The funeral director took a step back. It was best, he’d read online somewhere, to keep your distance from those under the influence. Or from the crazies.

Her laugh was shockingly mad sounding. Not angry, just incredibly large for someone her size, and the director shifted his eyes off the porch. “I’ll just uh – I’ll be going-“

“Thank you,” she cackled, practically a crow, with tears streaming down her face as she closed the door in his. She turned her back to the old oak and slid down it, doubled over. She felt hysterical. Everything she’d held back since his diagnosis bursting out through a collapsed dam.

She was a seesaw. Frenetic laughing and alternate sobbing. “Oh God, Mulder, you fucking asshole…” she finally collapsed down to her ass, back against the door. She was panting, aghast, alternately horrified and amazed. And so, so tired. 

But God, she’d needed that. She’d needed that release. “Mulder,” she whispered again. “You… fucking… Oh Mulder.” 

In her head she could hear him. 35 and full of boundless energy and belief, throwing them from case through case, single handedly willing her to stick with him, cancer be damned. Single handedly willing her to believe 

Space, time, mortality, religion. None of it held a drop of water when faced with Mulder’s belief. And though she still had her doubts, even in face of all the evidence, of her own permanence on this earth, of one thing, she was completely certain.

Somehow, some way, Fox Mulder would find his way back to her, whether through God or Sagan, String Theory or Buddhism, Heaven or Hell. 

All she had to do was believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a freakin' ride, huh? If you've stuck with me through it all, thank you. I truly appreciate it. This is, by far, the longest thing I've ever written, and that's pretty hilarious to me. As I said elsewhere, this started as a joke, then became a mission to normalize a funky kink, while keeping Mulder and Scully in character. I hope, if you've stuck with me through all 15k words, that I've managed to do that. 
> 
> Why the epilogue, then? It's always been kind of a mystery to me that many fans accept Scully's immortality as canon. Even Vince Gilligan/Darin Morgan said that her immortality was written as a joke in Clyde, and not intended to be canon in Tithonus, but many fans still accept it as such. However, what's not talked about is that you can't have it both ways. If one accepts Scully as immortal, then one must also accept that Mulder kills himself by auto-erotic asphyxiation. 
> 
> As Good Boy began to take actual shape in the second chapter, I realized this fic had become the perfect vehicle to tell that story, as crude as it may be. The challenge then became, how to make Mulder killing himself... in this way... be believable. He's shown suicidal tendencies in the show so we know he, canon, has them. But this is a hell of a fucked up way to go.
> 
> My last hope with this fic is... if you stuck with it through the end, although his passing was crude, I don't think it was cruel. And I hope I managed to keep it as true to Mulder as possible, because I love that dude. Thanks again.


End file.
